homeward road to land them at the church did she open
her mouth. The awe had worn off, and she babbled as of old in the very
face of this white splendor.

"Anne's going away," she said abruptly.

For the life of him Giles could not help starting, but he managed to
control his voice and speak carelessly. "Ah, and how is that?" he asked,
busy with the wheel.

"She is going to-morrow. I suppose she is tired of the dull life here."

"I expect she is," replied Ware curtly.

"Are you sorry?"

Giles felt that she was pushing home the point and that it behooved him
to be extra careful. "Yes, I am sorry," he said frankly. "Miss Denham is
a most interesting woman."

"Does that mean----"

"It means nothing personal, Daisy," he broke in hastily; then to change
the subject, "I hope you have enjoyed the ride."

"It is heavenly, Giles. How good of you to take me!"

"My dear, I would do much more for you. When we are married we must tour
through England in this way."

"You and I together. How delightful! That is if you will not get tired
of me."

"I am not likely to get tired of such a charming little woman."

Then he proceeded to pay her compliments, while his soul sickened at the
avidity with which she swallowed them. He asked himself if it would not
be better to put an end to this impossible state of things by telling
her he was in love with Anne. But when he glanced at the little fragile
figure beside him, and noted the delicacy and ethereal look in her face,
he felt that it would be brutal to destroy her dream of happiness at the
eleventh hour. Of himself he tried to think not at all. So far as he
could see there was no happiness for him. He would have to go through
life doing his duty. And Anne--he put the thought of her from him with a
shudder.

"What is the matter, Giles? Are you cold?" asked Daisy.

"No; I expect a white hare is loping over my grave."

"Ugh! Don't talk of graves," said Daisy, with a nervous expression.

"Not a cheerful subject, I confess," said Giles, smiling, "and here we
are in the very thick of them," he added, as the motor slowed down
before the lych-gate.

Daisy looked at the innumerable tombstones which thrust themselves up
through the snow and shivered. "It's horrible, I think. Fancy being
buried there!"

"A beautiful spot in summer. Do you remember what Keats said about one
being half in love with death to be buried in so sweet a place?"

"Giles," she cried half hysterically,